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Subject: {ASSM} The Painted Lady
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Standard disclaimer:  Don't try this at home.  Graphic sexual
activity depicted here--don't read it if you are not of legal age
in your locality.  Share if you want.

comments to: supreordinaryjoe@yahoo.com

 

The Painted Lady--Prelude

Part I

Richard sat in the Sea Breeze diner at four in the afternoon
nursing a coffee. Out on the ocean pelicans patrolled the waves
in small squadrons just past the curl of the surf. There were no
tourists crowding the narrow beach here. He chose this diner
because it looked like a place the locals might eat. It had a
sunrise, rather than sunset, view--sunsets were reserved for the
paying visitors. He himself was no tourist, although he was a
traveler. And he was looking for work.

Richard had been making his way along the eastern seaboard
working as a carpenter. In the three years since his divorce he'd
covered several states. In the back of his mind he might be
looking for a permanent berth, but until he found that undefined
quality in a place that made it feel like home, he was content to
wander. His van was well equipped with tools and rigged for
camping, too. He lived simply and without anxiety--just the
opposite of his married life. He enjoyed his work and the
wandering.

Across the nearly empty diner a woman and a girl who might be her
daughter were chatting over pie. He gave them a cursory
once-over, admiring the older woman's rounded figure and the
younger one's deep tan and long, black hair. They were leaning in
close and laughing the way women do. It was a pleasant sound. He
relaxed in the cool booth watching the waves, riding the rise and
fall of the women's voices. 

He remembered his mother and sisters giggling over girlish
secrets when he was a boy. They never really let him in on their
world after puberty, he realized. He tried to remember the last
time he was in a woman's confidence since then. He couldn't
really think of a time in his marriage when Charlotte let him
into her deepest heart. Clearly the relationship had been built
on shallow foundations. 

He imagined himself sitting at the table with the two women,
leaning in to hear their whispered confidences. Their perfume was
sweet and the skin of their arms, covered in sun-bleached hair,
glowed. He reached out to put his arms around them both and
pulled them close to his chest, burying his nose in the shiny,
black hair of the girl. Ohh, she smelled like hay and sunshine.
The motherly one turned and reached for his neck, pulling him
down for a kiss. The girl giggled. One of them began to unbuckle
his belt.

"Sorry to bother you, Hon, but do you want me to freshen that
cup?" The waitress, standing foursquare by the table under her
permed, gray hair, startled him from his reverie.

"Oh, no thanks," he said, pulling himself up in his seat. "Do you
have a yellow pages I could look at?"

"There's one in the phone booth outside, Hon."

The waitress left the bill and he included a good tip in the cash
he dropped on the table. He knew the waitress wasn't making the
big volume that the young girls in the tourist places were. He
nodded at her as he pushed out the door. `Always keep the
waitress on your side', was his motto.

"Bye, Hon," she called to his back.

He realized that the diner was empty as he walked out the door.
He must have been asleep--he hadn't noticed the two women
leaving. Pity, he still could feel the tug at his zipper. Not
that he was looking for a woman or even a night with a woman.
He'd had enough casual sex to be thoroughly unsatisfied. And his
physical "problem" had discouraged most women from a second night
in his bed. Charlotte, his wife, the martyr had made a virtue of
his problem, though no solution really for him. But his
fantasies, quite sufficient to keep his libido occupied, sprang
best from some concrete inspiration. He would have liked to
follow that daydream a little further. Maybe tonight he would.

As the went out the door he looked left and right, locating the
phone booth under the eave of the building at the far right end.
He scuffed through the sugar-sand that dusted the asphalt parking
lot and pulling the phone book up from where it hung on it's
metal lanyard, began researching likely sources of carpentry work
and a campground. Custom builders usually could use a good
lead-man. He liked to work from project to project, promising
nothing as far as longevity went, but building a solid reputation
with his employers in each town. From his own construction
business he had kept the habit of making each job a good
reference for the next 

As he scanned the Yellow Pages, a regular tapping sound filtered
into his consciousness. Click, click, click--an engine refusing
to start. He looked across the parking lot at a light green
Chevy, the only vehicle in sight other than his van. The woman at
the wheel cranked it one more time and pounded the dash when it
failed again to turn over. She got out and slammed the door. It
was the mom. Her sun-dress spun at her hips as she turned to
deliver a kick to the side of the car. From the dents there it
looked like this might not be the first time she'd felt the need.
Standing up, she looked even better than before, her coppery hair
reaching her shoulders and her pinched waist accentuating her
other curves.

Richard was torn between offering his help and melting slowly
around the corner. He'd often been the knight in shining armor,
but rarely had the damsel in distress been much of a damsel.
Women these days were suspicious of chivalric instincts and the
effort usually proved to cause more trouble than good. He closed
the book and slowly let it down. He kept one eye on the woman as
he inched away from the booth. 

Too late. She saw him as she turned to stride angrily into the
diner. Her face immediately lit with relief. He'd seen that look
too many times before. Men were handy if a woman needed something
fixed. He could fill the old male role of rescuer and general
handyman, but let him presume to ask the woman to fill the old
female role of domestic servant and harem girl and see what
happened. Or so he was thinking, resentfully, as she approached
him.

"I'm so sorry to bother you. My battery seems to be dead. Is
there any chance you could give me a jump--I've got cables." She
slowed and smiled as she said it, putting her hands on her
admittedly nice hips. The woman was breathing a little hard from
her outburst at the car, pushing up some cleavage and her
nostrils flared a bit, but she had good control of her anger, it
seemed. Her smile went straight to his balls. 

"Damn," he winced inside.

Richard returned the smile. "Yeah, I can help you."

What else could he do. He believed he was a gentleman. He
believed he should behave as a gentleman regardless of the likely
outcome. So he walked to his van. The woman thanked him and
turned to walk back to her car. Richard watched her hips sway
under the cotton dress, her calves flexing, and admitted that she
was an attractive female, damsel or not. He liked the way she was
upholstered.

Starting the car was a simple matter of connecting the cables and
turning the key. They let the engine run a little to charge the
battery, if that was the trouble. As Richard opened the door to
put his gloves back in the tool-kit under the bed-platform in the
van, he made sure the woman noticed the quality of his rig, that
she saw the finely finished cabinetry and well-fitted
appointments he's built into his mobile toolbox/home. He wanted
her to especially take note of his shelf of books. Hemmingway,
Steinbeck and Annie Dillard stood there, among others. 

"My name is Jane." She extended her hand. "Thanks so much again
for helping."

"Looks like the battery or the starter," he said, "Either one."
He was reluctant to make conversation beyond his role as rescuer
even as he presented his best I-am-the-man front despitehimself.

"I haven't seen you around. On vacation?" She was looking at him
and his van curiously.

"Ah, no, just got to town. Looking for work."

"What do you do?"

"Carpentry, that sort of thing." He was moving slowly toward the
driver's side door. "Go straight to a mechanic with that car--it
might not start once you shut it off."

"Well, I could use a carpenter at my place, occasionally. I own a
B&B just up the highway. Do you have a card?" She was following
him.

He got in the van, shut the door and handed out one of the cards
he kept on the dash.

Richard Taylor

Problem Solver

888-555-2222

Anything to do with houses



He always felt a little silly extending his introduction by way
of the insipid marketing ploy on his card, but in this case he
hoped it would get him out of the parking lot quicker.

"That's my cell. Leave a message if I don't pick up." He took the
paper she extended to him, started the van and gave a small wave
as he eased it out of the parking lot. In the rear view mirror he
saw the woman watching him go. As he thought, she hadn't given
him anything for his trouble but a brochure for her bed and
breakfast, The Painted Lady. Well, that was mildly amusing. She
kept watching as he rolled onto the highway and accelerated
south, the sun pressing down on them both and the bleached-out
town.

 

Part II

Jane looked again at the card in her hand and then at the
receding van. "What an intriguing guy," she thought. From the
gray in his hair he seemed over forty, but he had the
work-hardened fitness of a carpenter. He seemed unusually
reserved, though. It was nice not to get leered at like most men
did when they met her. She knew she was attractive, but was
tired, tired, tired of superficiality. 

The only men that she usually met that she didn't already know
were tourists, not the sort she wanted to get to know. She'd
lived in this little backwater town for most of her life mostly
working for her aunts at the B&B, even after her beautiful
Xiomara was born--all the locals were friends or best avoided.
They all knew her and her story all too well. She chafed at the
small town social life, but the B&B was a responsibility that
wouldn't let her go even for a weekend. Keeping The Painted Lady
afloat and her daughter, Xiaomara, in college kept her nose to
the grindstone.

She realized she shouldn't stand there musing, but needed to get
back to the house quickly. She'd only been able to steal an hour
away from the demands of the guests to eat with Xiomara and wish
her a safe drive back to school. She would be needed to get
dinner on the table.

Jane zipped back to The Pained Lady, dismissing the carpenter's
advice about stopping at the mechanic--she couldn't afford it
right now and knew she could get a jump at home if she needed it.
There was always a guest with their car in the driveway,
damn-it-all-to-hell-anyway. The house, sitting on a rise on the
inlet side of the island facing the sunset, appeared quiet as she
drove up. The last of the three sets of guests were back from
their day's rambling. She hoped Wei had been on top of things
this last hour.

Her hopes faded as she approached the house. She heard someone
wailing and a welter of voices that grew louder as she passed
around the old Victorian by way of the porch. When she turned the
last corner she saw a group of her guests crowded around the edge
of the veranda. Wei was standing to the side, her cell phone
pressed to her head. She was speaking rapidly, but when she saw
Jane approaching she cut short the call and ran up to her.

"Miss Jane!" she reached out in agitation, "Rufus is stuck! I
can't get Harry. Mrs. Semple is very upset."

It was clear that Mrs. Semple was upset--she was the one wailing.
Tears were running down her wrinkled cheeks, as well. For a
moment Jane could not place anyone named Rufus among her guests,
but as the group parted she recalled. Rufus was the Semple's
bulldog. It had its fat head jammed between the rail posts and it
lay flattened on its broad body apparently exhausted or dead at
the feet of her guests. 

"Shit!" she thought, "This won't help business."

"How long has he been like this? Is he breathing?" She bent to
feel Rufus' flank. He was breathing, at least.

Mr. Darnell, another prunish guest, offered, "We found him only
about 10 minutes ago. We couldn't find you, however. This young
lady can only use the telephone, it seems."

The others were wringing their hands or looking concerned. They
seemed to have exhausted their own small store of
resourcefulness. 

Jane thought quickly.

To Wei she said, "You can't reach Harry?" Then gestured for the
phone.

"I left a message, Miss Jane, but he's not there", she added
needlessly.

Jane pulled the business card from her pocket. "Problem
Solver....Anything to do with Houses" 

"Well, this fits the bill," she thought as she dialed Richard's
number.

Richard had stopped at the 7-11 and turned his thoughts again to
locating a local builder when his phone chirped at his hip. He
didn't get a lot of calls, especially when new in town. He looked
at the device suspiciously as he pressed the "talk" button.

"Hello"

"Richard, Mr Taylor, this is Jane.....you just gave me your card.
I have a problem....."

"Uh-oh," he thought, "not a clean get-away. And pretty damn quick
on the call-back, too. This can't be good. Isn't there a AAA in
this town?"

"What's the problem?," he asked, sounding professional.

"There's a dog with his head stuck in my railing. We've got to
get him out before he has a stroke." This last she whispered into
the phone.

Richard thought, "If she just said, dog-in-a-railing, she can't
be making it up--maybe not a come-on after all." 

But he said," What?, I can't hear you."

"Can you please come quick--it's an emergency. I can't get my
regular guy."

"Where are you?" he asked as he thought, " Regular guy" and
"Shit, shit shit shit shitshitshit."

"Second left past the Sea Breeze. Follow the road to the end,
can't miss it. There's a map on the brochure I gave you."

She was right about that, of course. It looked like there was no
way out, but to help. Well, at least he could charge whatever he
wanted in a situation like this. 

"I'll be right there," he assured her and clicked off. He hadn't
had this interesting an entrance into any other town since the
transmission blew out in Savannah.

 

Part III

As it turned out, getting the dog un-stuck was about as easy as
jump starting the car. He just used his hydraulic jack to press
the pickets apart enough to jam the dog's head back through. Once
freed, Rufus shook and trotted over to lie down and bask in the
tearful relief of his mistress. The other guests wandered
upstairs to dress for dinner.

Jane took him aside. "Thanks so much for your help. I imagined a
mutiny for a few minutes there."

"Not good for your reputation, killing your guests, I suppose",
he offered, feeling a little glow from his rescuing. He could
still enjoy his manly virtue, if only on his own account.

Jane turned and walked away. He supposed his self-congratulating
attitude had taken the relationship as far as it would go. He was
just as glad and started walking to the van. If a thanks was all
he was going to get he surely was not going to go begging for
anything else.

Just as he reached the van he heard her shout.

"Richard! I need to give you something for your trouble. " She
had walked away to keep from throwing herself into his arms. Now
she was running down the front walk. And bouncing very nicely he
noticed, in spite of his irritation.

She gripped his arm and said, "I am so embarrassed to say that I
am really short on cash right now. The summer season is just
ending and things will be more in the black over the winter, but
right now I'm stretched real thin. I would offer you a place to
stay, but this week I'm booked up. Like I said, the summer season
is over, but I'm just getting into the high-dollar schedule. Do
you need a place to shower and a couple of meals?"

As she looked at him with a certain unguarded appeal in her eyes
Richard weighed his options. The woman looked needy, but needy
for what? He, on the other hand, didn't feel a need for anything
in particular. No, he was lying to himself. Richard liked to
think he had worked out an understanding with his baser desires.
He had even had a conversation with his penis about it. He called
his penis Dick. Not original, but useful. Maybe he'd been alone
too long--talking to his penis was perhaps a bad sign.

Worse, his penis talked back. Or so it was easy to imagine. They
had pretty meaningful discussions about life and manhood, really.
He'd worked out some important issues talking with Dick. 

Dick was shouting at him now, "Yes! We need a shower. Yes! We
need a couple of meals. How about a couple of pillows, if you
know what I mean. She's got some nice pillows. And did you see
that Asian girl?"

Richard paid no attention to Dick's rambling. It was too late for
job-hunting today anyway.

"I usually camp in the van. But I could use a shower." He left
the rest unsaid, caught in his own ambivalence.

"OK," she led him up the walk, "I'll show you the shower and you
can join us for dinner tonight. I've got to get busy cooking
right now."

Jane directed him to the bath that guests used after swimming in
the inlet and laid out a towel. She hurried off, humming, to the
kitchen.

Richard stood in the hallway admiring the fine old house,
decorated in the popular eclectic, antique style. A Victorian
like this one, decorated with much multi-colored gingerbread on
the porches and cornices as they often were in San Francisco,
came to be called a painted lady. Obviously that is where this
place's name came from. It was solid and well made, though out of
place on this southern beach. Perhaps some northern transplant
had been unable to leave familiar architecture behind. This was
the kind of house he liked best. Old, but well built, needing
good tending, like a ship, to keep it afloat. He'd much rather
rescue a house than a woman. In his experience houses stayed
fixed longer.

After retrieving his clean clothes from the van, Richard had a
good muscle-loosening shower. He mused on the woman under the
sun-dress and Dick stood up and waved himself around. He wanted
to go exploring. Richard gave him a cold rinse to cool his
enthusiasm.

The dinner was a varied collection of simple southern dishes
deftly prepared. The guests, all elderly, talked about the day's
adventures, not the least of which was the dog's near disaster.
Richard received his share of praise for the rescue. He gathered
from their conversation that the old maiden aunts who had run
this place were not long dead and, although the guests did not
say it out loud, the place was not the same. 

His stomach was full and his pride was polished. Jane darted in
and out of the kitchen serving with Wei's help. The two of them
did a fine job together. Richard admired both their teamwork and
their physical charms as discreetly as he could while carrying
his end of the conversation.

Jane had a friendly way of bending over the table to serve,
showing a nice cleavage.

"Damn," thought Richard.

"Damn," echoed Dick.

 

Part IV

When all the guests retired to the verandah or their rooms,
Richard set out for a stroll on the beach. He walked a long while
thinking on the day's events and the new town's prospects. Dick
had a lot to say. Together they put the world in order. The sun
was nearing the horizon when he turned around to amble back to
The Painted Lady and darkness had fallen when he returned to the
van. Inside, Richard popped the screened windows to let in the
cooler night air and stretched out under a sheet. The walk, as
intended, made sleep easy to come by.

Jane attended to all the evening duties, helping guests with
their rooms and making sure all were settled before the 10
O'clock hour, understood to be the time after which she was not
to be bothered except in emergencies. Wei left at 9.

Jane went to her attic room at 10 and sat at the window,
thinking. She realized that her reaction to the carpenter stemmed
from loneliness and unrelieved desire. Since her aunts had died
and left her this place two years ago she hadn't had time to date
or otherwise assuage her body's needs. The dates she had had
weren't any great shakes anyway. She'd had to go 30 miles south
just to pick up a decent looking man. This was fraught with
disappointment. She really hadn't had a decent relationship,
either emotional or sexual for five years. At 37 she felt the
clock ticking.

As she watched the waves, she saw Richard walking up the beach in
the moonlight. He struck a chord in her that had been still for a
long time. Her body pulled her in his direction like the tide was
pulled by the moon. Just seeing him elicited a warm tingle in her
core, an itch that needed to be scratched from the inside. And a
thirst that she suspected was one that few others than her felt.
There was something about a strong man like him that made her
mouth water. She looked at him and felt the ache as much in her
throat as in her vagina. Jane wanted him in her mouth, to coat
him with spit, to coax his seed from him and taste his potency,
to savor the metallic, sweet essence of him as much as she wanted
him between her legs. 

Even in high school she'd had this peculiar taste in men's juice.
She got a reputation in this little town that still colored the
way the men thought of her. Despite becoming a middle-aged mom
and business woman, despite the intervening 18 years, she still
felt the thirst. 

She realized, seeing Richard stroll down the sand, that she could
not resist her desire. Aside from the inconvenience of the paying
guests, she could see no reason not to go after him. Except that
he seemed so reserved. Perversely, that only made him more
desirable. And he was a handy man. The Painted Lady needed him,
too. 

Jane sat in the window seat, thinking of Richard's calm
competence, imagining the arc of his back and the soft, downy
curve of his ear. Her hands slid, as they often did, to the warm
cleft between her legs. She hugged her own full, flushed body as
she imagined he might.

Richard dreamed. 

He was working on a house that frequently inhabited his dreams.
He was building it alone, from plans of his own design. It was a
pleasant dream that he often had. Each piece of lumber was placed
just so and the house took shape under his hands in perfect
order. The joy of the building filled him. He turned with a beam
balanced in his grip, pivoting around his hips, feet planted
firmly, swinging the long lumber into place. With tenderness and
precision he lowered the beam into pockets he'd chiseled out of
the sill plates and the fit was perfect. He couldn't have passed
a piece of paper through the joint. 

The smell of wood and sweat filled his head. He could feel the
sun touch his naked back. The leather toolbelt hugged his hips
and the tools dangled, jangling, each in their proper place, each
with its own purpose and design, each the culmination of
generations of gentle evolution--perfect for its intended purpose
in the carpenter's hand.

He reached for his hammer, pulling it smoothly from the loop at
the back of his belt. He stretched his arm in its full arc and
brought the weight of the hammer gliding down with a mathematical
grace to strike the peg that would secure the beam. He'd learned
to let gravity do its share of the work, to guide the effort of
his shoulder and arm and back directly and without waste into the
nail. Ease and rhythm would allow him to do this all day and to
see the house take shape piece by piece. In the dream he never
tired of the job of putting the house together and the house
never seemed to get any closer to completion even though he could
also see the finished product. It was one of those dreams.

He lifted his arm and, "bang", drove the peg again, lifted and
"bang", lifted and "bang" again. The hammer, as it passed,
ringing, by his ear said, "Richard..."

"Bang'"

"Richard"

"Bang"

"Richard" 

His hammer had never said his name before. He turned his head to
look at the talking hammer and, "Pow!" hit his thumb as square
and as hard as he'd ever hit any nail.

He sat straight up in bed grabbing his hand. He was panting. The
pain seemed so real.

"Richard!" It was a whisper coming through the window of the
van's side door by his head......a tapping on the glass. He
focused his eyes on the sound. Jane's face took shape.

"Richard, can I talk to you?" She had a nice way of asking, but
his thumb still throbbed with dreamed pain. Was there another
emergency?

"What?" was all he could choke out.

"I want to talk to you, please?" 

"OK, the door's not locked." He reached over to make sure and she
opened the door and stepped on the sill. He made out in the
moonlight that she was wearing a thin robe over a light cotton
nightdress. She seemed all soft and round as she sat down on the
edge of his mattress. She brought a smell of lilac and animal in
with her. He raised himself on his elbow.

"What's the problem? What time is it?"

"Just 11:30. I need someone to talk to."

Jane knew that she could get tossed out any minute, but was
willing to take the risk. She couldn't figure out why the guy was
so shy unless he was gay. Her instincts said, no, however. 

"It's just that this place is getting to me. I can't get a
vacation from here and one more disaster like that one today and
I may snap."

"How'd you come to run this place?"

Jane told him about how her aunts had kept her each summer when
she was kid, then how they'd taken her in entirely when she'd had
Xiomara at 16 and her family had disowned her. She'd stayed on to
help with the place as the two women grew older and finally, when
they died, leaving it to her, she'd taken full charge. It was a
lot harder by herself, though. She and Xiomara were still
grieving their deaths. So much had changed all of a sudden in
their lives.

Richard could sympathize. He told her about his own business and
the seemingly endless demands it made on him. His customary
capsule version of the end of his business was that when he
realized that his employees were making more per hour than he
was, he closed it down. About that time his wife decided to trade
him in, so he ended up without spouse or family and a very
portable job. He'd been wandering ever since, and much happier.

Jane began to think she understood his reluctance to warm up
earlier, but she thought she'd maybe pried an opening in his
reserve now. She made her move.

"Will you hold me?" She curled herself into the curve of his
body, pressing back into him with her hips.

He could hardly say no, could he? Her head on his left arm, he
wrapped her in his right, careful to let his hand rest somewhere
in the middle between her breasts and her crotch. She took his
hand in hers and snugged it between her breasts.

"Oh, God," said Dick, rising.

Richard was breathing hard down Jane's neck. She squirmed against
him, nesting the rising organ between her butt-cheeks. He was
caught in a terrible balance between keeping his agreement with
himself and succumbing to the unmistakable seduction. He knew
that some kind of trouble would come of it. He didn't have any
reason to believe otherwise. He could console himself with the
thought that he had fought until the last to resist........

Still, her body insisted and his responded. He was stiff from his
toes to his scalp with desire, trembling in urgency. When she
reached behind herself and gripped his erection he gave up any
pretence of resistance. Richard pulled her robe and nightdress up
around her hips and eased back so she could guide him. He reached
a hand down between her legs and felt her dampness. The smell of
her arousal was thick in the air. He knew that he himself was
oozing fluid--her thumb was smearing it around the crown of his
organ. He bit her on the neck and she trembled. 

She parted her legs, reached between and pressed him against her
moist vulva. The lips parted readily and he pushed in. She pushed
back and they slid together easily. Jane, with a sharp intake of
breath, went stiff. Her orgasm surprised them both with its
suddenness. She jerked back against him in her passion again and
again as he thrust. Richard ran his free hand up and down her
abdomen, pressing into her crotch and sliding up in the sheen of
her sweat to pull at her nipples. She responded with even more
urgent spasms.

With her flailing against him and squeezing his shaft with each
climax, Richard emptied into her. He wrapped his arms around her
waist and curled into her as each thrust shook him. His body took
over, locking them together in ecstatic rhythm until he was
spent. The long wind-down gentled them both into sleep.

Jane passed out in bliss. She floated in perfect peace for
several hours, then stirred as Richard rolled away, asleep. She
felt hollowed. And slick-sticky. She eased herself over the edge
of the mattress and knelt on the doorsill. She looked
affectionately at the sleeping man and felt his seed slip from
her. It was hot on her thighs. There seemed to be quite a lot,
too. She reached down and touched herself where he was running
out. She dipped her finger in and brought it to her mouth, put
out her tongue and tasted him. A good tang.

Jane was surprised how much semen was oozing out of her. She
tucked her nightdress between her legs and tried to staunch the
flow. By the time she had walked back to the house the wad of
cloth was soaked. 

"This," she thought, "is a bonus."

 

Part V

Richard didn't usually sleep late, but this morning he was
awakened not by the birds and early sunlight, but the sound of
cars being loaded and grinding away on the gravel of the drive
outside The Painted Lady. He'd noticed that Jane was gone
sometime in the night, but wasn't surprised. 

"Well," he mused, "she's fucked my brains out."

She seemed to have her own agenda. Perhaps she'd regretted the
seduction. He gathered some fresh clothes and made his way to the
shower.

Jane, having fed the guests their breakfasts, cleaned the table
and carried the dishes in to Wei, who was loading the dishwasher.
She still felt the tingle of the night's lovemaking, quick though
it had been. Keeping an eye on the van, she hoped that Richard
would not just drive off, scared off, without saying goodbye. Or
waiting for seconds. She was still extremely horny. And thirsty.

When she saw him come walking in with his clothes under his arm,
she directed Wei to go up to strip the guest beds and start the
laundry. She listened for the shower.

Richard slipped quietly through the house. He could hear
someone's footfalls upstairs--he wanted to avoid talking to Jane
just yet. He needed the stimulation of the shower to help him
sort his thoughts. If this sort of thing only led to a bad end,
then he was off to bad start. He was amazed at the woman's
insistence last night, and his own weakness. He should never have
stayed for the first shower. Dick was doing too much persuasive
talking. Now here he was in the shower again trying to find an
exit strategy. He was reminded of the saying, "You need to go in
to get out."

Jane turned the knob slowly and eased the door open. Yes, Richard
was in the shower and his taut body was just visible behind the
patterned glass. She shut and locked the door. 

Richard caught a movement from the corner of his eye. As he
turned, shutting off the water, Jane stepped into the steamy
shower, naked and smiling. 

She put her finger to his lips. "Ssshhhhhh"

Dick sprang straight up for attention and Jane gave it to him.
She wrapped her fingers around the thick shaft and moved the skin
up and down over his hard spine while pulling Richard's face down
for a warm and moist kiss. She hadn't kissed him last night, but
made up for that now, not breaking off for a breath for a good
long while. Their tongues languidly tangled. Richard nipped at
her lips and let his hands wander down to cup her behind.. He was
a good kisser, she realized with relief. Richard knew his escape
plan was down the drain and surrendered to the pleasure of the
moment. There was time enough for talking later.

Richard got his first good look at her now. She was a little
shorter than his six feet and firm in the arms and legs. Her
breasts were heavy and melon-like. They had some heft, like he
preferred, but were not too big and the nipples were fat,
sticking up at a perky angle. Her hips were full and yet her
waist was trim. Her tan was bisected by the lines of a modest
bikini shadow. Her bush was only shaved enough to keep it in the
panties. He liked that, too.

Jane began to slide down his chest. She kept her grip on his
erection and nibbled at his little teats as she sank lower.
Richard leaned his weight against the shower wall as she fell.
This was her game to play. He still might turn her off. If she
insisted on blowing him she would just have to take the
consequences. He'd never had a woman who would blow him
twice--not after seeing how much jism he pumped out. 

He supposed he was a freak. He liked a blowjob as much as the
next guy, but even, or especially, his wife wouldn't do it for
him. Just too much stuff. A lot of women didn't even like all
that goo between their legs. Charlotte had made a big production
of putting down two layers of towels whenever she condescended to
lovemaking (only for making babies, who never happened). That
really took a lot of the spontaneity out of it, but he blamed
himself. Even the vasectomy hadn't reduced the flow noticeably.
No condom would hold it all, either, and the wet spots were
olympic-sized.

Well, Jane was about to get the usual surprise. She was moving
her lips over his wash-board stomach and running her thumb around
Dick's head, again smearing the pre-cum. She took a drop of the
glycerin-like fluid and placed it on her tongue. Her eyes closed
in pleasure. She made sure Richard was watching. He was.

He saw her open her mouth wide and pull his organ forward. Then
she slowly eased her lips over the crown and simply closed her
mouth. Her tongue began circling inside, caressing the end of his
erection with tenderness. Jane moved her right hand up and placed
in just under the crown. Below this she gripped with her left,
covering most of the shaft. Then she began stroking while working
her lips gently over the tip, popping him through the tight ring
of her mouth with each stroke.

Richard's legs were stiff and his toes were already curling. She
seemed intent on making him shoot as quickly as possible. He was
in a kind of waking wet-dream. This did not seem like it could be
real.

Then she paused, just as he neared the point of no return, "Do
you always come as much as you did last night?"

He goggled. He could only nod. 

"MMMM, that's what I'd hoped, Richard. That's what I
like--gallons of you."

With that she plunged her mouth over him again and stroked again,
faster. He looked down at her coppery hair bobbing over him and
thought, "Jesus, she wants it, she wants it!"

In the most joyous release of his life he erupted exuberantly.
The thick ropes of spunk shot through him without reserve. He let
go as he never had before, allowing his spasming body to jet out
every drop, regretting not a single thrust or squirt. And he
watched as Jane tried to take it all.

She gripped his cock tight, stroking as he thrust, holding the
spewing end in her mouth. After a moment she could hold no more
and white streams of semen broke from the corners of her mouth.
It bubbled out around him and poured from her chin, dropping in
thick garlands to her breasts. She pulled her mouth away and
swallowed once, but a mouthful ran out and into the stewam
flowing down across her abdomen and still he spouted seed. He
splashed along her nose and over into her hair, leaving a
streamer across her eye.

Jane began laughing at the abundance of it all. She had never
seen so much sperm. Her thirst was piqued and she pulled the cock
down to her lips again to suck another mouthful from him.. She
felt the glaze on her belly and the tickle of the semen as it
dripped from her bush. She pumped him with her right hand and
scooped up jism from her breast with her left. Wiping the handful
of spunk across her mouth, Jane smiled and looked him in the eye
as his last dribble oozed out.

"God, this is good, Richard. You are one special man. I'd like to
keep you."

Richard, fucked brainless again, was dumb-struck. He looked down
at the woman coated in his cum and could not believe what was
happening. Could it really be that there was a match for him
after all?

Dick, for once, was speechless, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



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